Lavender's Kiss
by Sebastian Sebastian
Summary: Anita Lesnicki has changed her identity and wants to lead a normal life, becoming a guidance counselor for a small town's high school. All she ever wanted to do was forget about what happened in her own small town all those years ago, but when evil arises as a hot new student named 'Elle Lavender,' Anita is forced to risk everything in order to save the student body.
1. Prologue: Personal Jesus

**Authors Note:** I do not own Jennifer's Body. I just think it's a good horror movie. This story is rated T due to sexual situations, violence and language. Please do not read if these things offend you, or if you want to remain pure from my horrible mind. To the rest of you sickos, thanks for reading! :-P

* * *

**Lavender's Kiss**

**By Sebastian Sebastian**

* * *

**Prologue**

**Personal Jesus**

* * *

**They were moaning inside the bouncing van, **gargling on each other's saliva, flicking at each other's tongues, acting as if that would be their last chance to be joined in sinful teenaged union; like it would be their last chance to have such a carefree and casual romp on that quiet afternoon in the church's parking lot.

In the heat of the moment, he had ripped off the silver crucifix that adorned her neck. It fell to the ground making a soft clink, but neither of them seemed to notice.

_She_ thought, when he kissed her, she'd hear music and her foot would pop up into a backwards kick like a scene from a 1940s romance movie. She thought his kiss would lead to the discovery of new worlds and colors, and of cures for the incurable. She thought she might melt into a bubbling human puddle when his lips finally sent the electric pulse through her awakening body, revealing everything beautiful and wonderful about herself and the Earth…

_…And then they stopped kissing._

She looked down to find that her foot had remained stationary and there was no great movement of electricity. Everything had stayed the same. She cursed herself and looked away from his wondering and hungry eyes, growing more and more disappointed with her delicate limbs that they would betray her in such a disillusioning fashion.

When she caught him offering flirtatious glances at her she blushed. When he had given her his secret sign language from across the silent church, she glanced at Jesus on his crucifix and his unapproving scowl and shrugged.

She knew what her gentleman caller was doing- he was summoning her to leave the pews with him, no, _for_ him. She may have slightly cared about the biblical lessons being taught, but she really wanted to see him again. She wanted to be _near_ him again—to feel his rough mouth against her soft pouty lips.

When they met outside, he gushed about how much he wanted to be with her and how she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She looked at him and thought she might die from lustful heat-stroke. _Sure_, she felt a little uneasy in the back of that filthy blue van afterwards- as he rushed to unclasp her bra, tasting the salt on her skin and smelling the artificial lilac of her perfume like he were some kind of weird vegetarian zombie—but she thought she might _love_ him. Maybe he was the _one. _Maybe he should be her small-town-_first_…

_Even_ if the van they were tossing around in reeked of chlorine, sweat, cigarettes and just a hint of beer.

Doug Bone had been gifted with the aqua colored "molestor" van shortly after earning his license. That was his eighteen-year-old accomplishment- who cared if it was his father's company clunker and had "Bone Pools: We'll make sure your pool isn't Bone-dry!" painted across it. This moment was romantic, in its own way.

Doug had always been so nice to her and she thought maybe it wasn't just because she was "pretty." He told her how he felt about her, and she could tell by the way he smiled, how his pupils were dilated while he was on top of her, how his hands were so gentle on her small body—he meant every _word_.

_Besides_, this whirlwind romance could be the _one_. This could be the relationship that lasted beyond summer's end and long after he was hulled off to college on his football scholarship. Maybe as an old couple they could tell their eager grandchildren the story of how they were high school sweethearts.

...if she'd let him have what he wanted today. _He might stay then, right?_

_He_, on the other hand, knew he'd only get one shot at this- deflowering the preacher's niece while the "holy man," himself, stood inside the church at the podium damning everyone to hell.

_Seal the deal, Dougie boy. _He thought.

His church-going football buddies said that he'd never be able to do it. He wouldn't have a chance in hell at snatching up a goodie-two-shoe like new girl, Elle Lavender. But he knew if he played his cards right, she'd be putty in his moderately soft-but-jockish hands. _Also, when you're a girl's first, they can't laugh at how small you are._ He thought.

He almost felt bad at how easy it was. He flashed his baby blues at her and she was ready to do anything he wanted to keep him happy. _Of course she'd be easy._ He thought. _She was damaged goods._ His mother had read him the newspaper clipping from the day Elle had arrived into town:

* * *

**MAN CRASHES CAR INTO LOCAL HOME KILLING SELF AND HOUSE GUEST**

50-year-old Dustin Burk killed himself and bystander yesterday afternoon, after crashing his vehicle into a Cloverport home.

43-year-old town Reverend's wife, Martha Bagley along with her sister Karen Lavender, 40, were enjoying a quiet evening at the Bagley's residence when Burk ran into the home, killing himself and Lavender instantly, and injuring Bagley.

"When we found him, his pants were barely on and it looked as if he had emitted fluids; it seems the man was pleasuring himself and wasn't watching the road," says officer on duty, Gordon Hart.

Reverend Bagley was preparing Sunday's sermon at the church when he heard the news. "This news is very devastating," he says. "We need God more than ever right now, and I reach out to anyone who wants to join me in prayer this Sunday at the church."

Lavender was a recently divorced, single mother with a 16-year-old daughter. The Bagley family will take custody of the teen. Reverend Bagley still plans to give Sunday's sermon.

* * *

In the few weeks that Doug had talked to Elle, she had proven herself a cheap date, still refusing to really eat anything in front of him—he supposed it was some kind of eating disorder. She looked particularly bony and pale today, too, but he didn't mind the not eating thing—he wanted a girl that was as thin as the models in the magazines.

"This is wrong," she panted, having second thoughts and stopping him. She grunted when a rusty pool skimmer poked her in the back. _No, this won't do._

"Come on," Doug was lust-drunk.

"But my _uncle_," she moaned. "He's giving the sermon."

"No one's going to find out, baby," he put a finger over her lips, pretending not to notice the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was partially covered in tin foil next to her. _How old is that dang thing?_

"But we're right outside of church," she said, hearing his belt buckle clink together as he pulled down his pants.

"Elle, they're much too busy sweating about hell in there to notice us," he snapped.

She finally pushed him away. "I can't do this."

"What do you mean you can't?" Doug didn't want to stop, and pulled Elle closer for one more kiss. _Come on, Elle, get with the program._

"Doug," She pushed him away again. "I said _no_."

"Are you kidding me?" he growled.

"No, I'm not," she said blowing strands of blond hair out of her face, and buttoning her white crinkly blouse.

"Who the _hell_ are you to say no to _me_?" he started to speak roughly.

"Doug," Elle spoke calmly, a little afraid, and trying to shake open the rusty handle of the back of the van. It was locked. "Just let me out of this van,"

"I don't think so," he said, "I thought we had a connection." He tried to calm down. _Catch flies with honey, Dougie boy._

"I just want to go back inside," Elle whimpered.

Doug closed his eyes and swallowed hard, trying his hardest to keep his cool.

_Don't do it, Dougie boy. Let this one go..._

...But no girl had ever said "no" to him before. He couldn't handle the rejection.

_Who the hell does she think she is?_ Doug flinched. He couldn't swallow down the anger anymore- anger that Elle would tease him so freely. She was a woman. _Women_ don't have power. _He_ had the power, and he knew it was time goodie-two-shoe Elle Lavender learned a valuable lesson.

He lunged at her, and she screamed, seemingly trying to fight him off. She figured she'd scratch him a few times to really get him angry. Sort of like shaking up a beehive before you spray it with bug killer.

_Another bastard took the bait._ Elle thought. Silly Doug actually thought he'd be her _first_. She thought maybe he'd be different, maybe he would be the one that she let live, but he was just like the rest of them. Men just don't have the same complexity of soul as women did. He ripped off her shirt, and she cursed, but not because he was _hurting_ her—she wanted nothing more but to wear that shirt again. Now, she'd have to buy a new one. He was gritting his teeth, spitting, pinning her down and holding her by the wrists, and all she could think was… her stomach was _growling_. She needed to eat something.

Honestly, she decided on what she wanted for dinner a few weeks ago, but now things just got _personal_—she definitely would prefer to eat the boy who had torn her favorite shirt. Snatching the cross from off her neck, that was one _thing_, but her blouse? That broke her heart.

Doug screamed, feeling a sharp pain in his sides. He was bleeding. Elle looked different to him, somehow, and as she changed, he was really unsure at what he was looking at…

He'd really never get the chance to know.

* * *

**Author's note:** If you didn't figure it out, this fan fiction's chapters are named after songs. Band to check out:** Depeche Mode**

Every Doug in the world deserves this fate, in my opinion.


	2. Chapter 1: Fell In Love With A Girl

**Author's Note: **I do not own Jennifer's Body. I just enjoy the movie. This story is rated T due to sexual situations, violence and language. Please do not read if these things offend you, or if you want to remain pure from my horrible mind. To the rest of you sickos, thanks for reading! :-P

Suggested Band: White Stripes

* * *

**Part I**

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Fell In Love With a Girl**

* * *

The steam slithers up from my black coffee, as Jennifer stands in the office presenting herself in front of the glass door, wearing the royal blue and gold cheerleading outfit that I've come to despise. She blows kisses at me and is doing cheer kicks.

She's being a _bitch_.

I sit across from a sixteen-year-old-boy, nodding to his ramblings, but unable to listen to a word he says. He slouches, shrinking his gangly frame the best he can, his eyeliner may have brought out his pretty blue eyes, but his long sweeping hairdo makes sure those organs are promptly covered. His makeup is pale, hiding his moderate acne.

"Sometimes I think life is just a joke, you know?" he goes on. "That we're all just these feeble toys that God and the Devil jerk around with. They're big bullies, I think—they make us so happy and then next thing you know, the suffering becomes unbearable. Think about it, it has to be for their entertainment, right? They have a front row seat to the ultimate reality show. They get to sit around daily, probably together, on a big fluffy couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn, drinking beer, maybe lighting up some chronic, watching how much of this bullshit life we can possibly take."

"I like this kid," Jennifer smiles and scoots next to him. She kneels over slowly, and while looking at me, sticks her tongue in his ear.

He doesn't even flinch.

"You shouldn't curse," I say.

"Sorry, Ms. Hearst," he responds respectfully.

"Oh, so that _is_ the name you're going by now," Jennifer points to the nameplate on my desk. "Grace Hearst. That's cute. It matches the spinster-ness of your new eye and hair color."

"You should take your schooling seriously, Whitaker," I say, taking a sip of coffee, and ignoring my dead friend. "Eventually, these days will be gone and you'll be wishing you could get them back."

"Unless some psycho in a band thinks you're a virgin and sacrifices you to the devil. Then when you come back all evil-like and man-hungry your best friend kills you," Jennifer barks. "If that happens then you'll be seventeen _forever_."

I bite my tongue and keep looking forward to the teenaged boy.

...Oh, I'm sorry, did I fail to mention that _other_ side effect?

We all know if the demon bites you and you survive, you receive some of its powers. However, in all my worry about Jen, I failed to read the fine print. If you _kill_ the demon, and you're connected to the living version of them, it's very possible you will see your victim as a ghost. They'll be able to talk to and torture you for a lifetime, unnoticed by others, until he or she redeems their soul in the mortal realm, which Jennifer is unlikely to do. So, its double jeopardy for the likes of me, and its really quite annoying. What's worse, Jennifer, just like when she was living, only shows up when it's convenient for her. She hadn't talked to me while I was institutionalized, because she says she was still mad about me breaking her BFF locket and stabbing her in the heart. I rolled my eyes and told her she killed my boyfriend, so _tough crackers, Jennifer. _

"It's hard to take anyone seriously," Whitaker sighs. "The people in this town are just so small. They only care about clothes, sex, going to church, being popular…it's exhausting."

"It must be _so _exhausting for non-conformist boys like him to be so _non-conforming_. I've always wondered- do they all shop at the same place? They sure all look the same." Jennifer strokes her chin as she slumps down on the corner of my desk. "I bet he tells people he's _bisexual_."

"People have a tendency to be small," I say offering a small smile, and again, ignoring Jennifer. "That is, until you know them."

"Maybe," Whitaker finally stands up and I feel relieved. "Anyway, am I allowed to go now, Ms. Hearst? I have math homework to do."

"Of course, Whitaker," I say standing up as well.

He smiles and awkwardly waves, shuffling out the front door, his book bag slung over his shoulder.

"Oh he's going to have the hots for teacher," Jennifer says as the door swings shut. "You're old enough to be a MILF now."

"No I'm not, Jennifer," I say, clearly annoyed.

"Sure you are," Jennifer sits down in the folding chair across from my desk. "I'm not saying your kid would be seventeen, but you could've popped out one or two between high school and now."

"_Jennifer_," I groan.

"At least you're not fat," Jennifer says. "Mary Posley? _Total_ porky. If I were still alive, I'm sure Roman would've married me, and we would have adorable babies at some point. They'd be cute, but I'm pretty sure he prefers Cevapcici now, which would explain all the backdoor action."

"Why do you insist on doing this at the most inconvenient time," I sigh. "I'm at _work_."

"Because it's funny," Jennifer says, picking at her teeth, while staring at her reflection in my nameplate.

I sink down in my chair and chug my coffee, exasperated. Jennifer hops up off the folding chair, and looks into the recycling bin.

"Did you read the newspaper today, Needy?" Jennifer asks, picking a crumbled paper out and un-crinkling it.

"Don't touch that, I don't need anyone looking in and seeing floating newspapers." I yell, afraid to say I _had_ read the paper today and I was trying not to think about it.

"Whatever," Jennifer says. "And I'm sure you yelling at the wall won't alarm them."

"Two words, Jennifer- _Blue-tooth_."

Jennifer sighs and sits the paper in front of me. I glance at it, feeling needles in my stomach.

_CLOVERPORT HIGHSCHOOL GRADUATE FOUND EATEN IN VAN_

"Do you think it means anything?" Jennifer asks seeming unusually concerned.

"I hope not," I say. "Either way it has nothing to do with me."

"Maybe not," Jennifer says. "But-"

"No _buts_," I say. "I avenged your death. It's bad enough I have to live with that for the rest of my life. I just want things to be as normal—or, at least, as normal as they're ever going to be. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Needy," Jennifer's face is solemn. "I don't think you understand-"

"You asked to see me?" Another voice says.

I look up to see a pretty blond girl dressed fashionably preppy in a pink top and short skirt. A spit-glistening cherry lollipop dangles from her left hand.

"You must be Elle Lavender," I jump up and shake the young girl's free hand. Her hand is very warm.

"I hate this girl, already." Jennifer says.

_Jennifer must be jealous._

"You must be Ms. Hearst," the girl smiles coyly and sits gracefully in her chair. "Your name sounds like death."

"Oh boy," Jennifer says. "She's twisted, isn't she?"

"Oh," I say taken back a little, "No, I think you're referring to the car, H-E-A-R-S-E. My last name is with a T."

"_Oh_," Elle cocks her head to the side, and pops the lollipop into her mouth. She is quite beautiful, and certainly knew how to do the innocent school-girl act.

"I called you in here, because I heard about what happened with Douglas Bone," I say softly. "I heard you were dating him and I just wanted to see if you were ok. This is a safe place, and if you want to talk about anything, I'm here to listen. Do you have anything you'd like to talk about?"

"It happened outside of the church," Elle says taking out the lollipop, and sporting her best crocodile tears. "I was listening to my uncle's sermon. He's the town's only preacher, you know. Anyway, I went to the bathroom and when I got back, Doug wasn't in his seat. When my Uncle's sermon was over, I went to the van and there he _was_. It was awful. It looked like he was someone's school trip snack pack."

"She's such a little liar," Jennifer shouts as if she were watching some great soap opera.

"I'm so sorry," I say handing her a tissue, and watch awkwardly as she blows her nose.

"He was going to be my first," Elle looks down, her eyes saddened by the thought of her dead boyfriend.

"Oh god, no one believes that, _sweetie_," Jennifer groans standing behind Elle.

I stare at the young girl uncomfortably.

_Do I give her an abstinence only pamphlet?_

"_Love_, I mean," Elle says. "We were going to do that whole _Dawson's Creek_ thing."

"Aren't you a little too young for _Dawson's Creek_?" I ask.

"That depends," Elle crosses her legs in such a way that Jennifer mouths the word "slut" to me.

I stare at Elle in silence.

"Maybe you're just a little too young to be a high school guidance counselor." The blond girl smiles at me, forgetting that she had been crying two minutes ago. She was obviously proud of herself for questioning my credibility.

"Oh this girl is _crazy_," Jennifer says. "She'd better keep going to church, because I think she really _needs_ Jesus."

"I assure you, Ms. Lavender, I have the credentials to do this job, despite what you think my age might be."

"Do you?"

"I really just called you down here to see how you were doing, Ms. Lavender. I understand you're hurting right now, but that's no reason to act like-"

"A bitch?" Jennifer finishes my sentence.

Elle raises an eyebrow, as I stay distracted and paused.

"Like I'm the enemy," I finish the sentence as it was intended.

"I'm fine," Elle says and cocks her head again. "Are _you_ ok?"

"This isn't about me, Ms. Lavender,"

"Please call me Elle," she responds, a deranged look in her eye that makes my heat beat a little more rapidly. "After all, you are my guidance counselor."

Jennifer's face turns a bit more serious, she walks closer to me and whispers, "She's a me. I can sense it. She's…she _ate_ that boy."

"What are you doing to deal with the pain, Elle?" I ask, trying my best not to acknowledge Jennifer with an _I know._

"I pray," Elle smiles. I'm scared when I see how her mouth curls upward.

"Our father in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. I'm a slut who ate my boyfriend," Jennifer says.

"It looks like you have a healthy appetite-" I say.

"For minced Man-meat," Jennifer shouts, standing behind me, her hands gripping the back of my chair.

"For religion," I again finish my sentence how it was intended.

"That I do," Elle says. She looks at me for a moment slyly and says, "When was the last time you went to church, Anita?"

"What?"

"You heard me," she smiles again.

"My name is Grace," I say panic stricken. "Uh-Ms. Hearst, I mean. My name is Ms. Hearst."

"Cut the crap, _Anita_. We both know who we are and what we're capable of," Elle says standing up. "So here's the deal, you leave me alone and I'll go elsewhere for my playtime snacks. Things always get messy in small towns, anyway, and who needs that? Life really is silly, Anita. If you're a nice person, people ignore you, you don't exist. You might as well be dust tickling someone's nose. No one cares. _But_, you do one little thing wrong, and its pitch forks and torches, all while you cry, huddled in a corner. Anyway, Anita or _Grace_, whatever your name is, if you try to stop or harm me in _anyway_, I will be forced to leave an anonymous tip to those pesky men-in-uniform about who you really are. You're wanted across the country, you know? That psycho-fan girl who killed her best friend and then all the members of that upcoming band _Low Shoulder_. Its really quite pathetic."

I sit there my mouth opened, but without a word to utter.

The bell rings, and Elle moves to the door, swinging it open. "We're done here, right?" she asks. "I don't want to be late to Home Ec."

"Yes," I whisper. Jennifer, for once, is silent.

"Oh and one more _thing_," Elle swings back around before leaving the room. She's looking past me, and I think she might be looking at my dead best friend. "Please tell Jennifer that making up blasphemous renditions of the Lord's Prayer and slut-shaming me won't make her ghost-self prettier than _I_. She's quite literally past her_ prime_. Just ask her rotting corpse."

Jennifer leans around the chair to look at me offended by the statement, as Elle continues out the door and into the now buzzing-with-life hallway.

"Oh Needy," she says, walking around the table and sitting on my desk, staring out at the busy high school hallway. "Things just got really bad."


	3. Chapter 2: Where is My Mind?

**Author's Note:** I do not own Jennifer's Body. I just enjoy the movie. This story is rated T due to sexual situations, violence and language. Please do not read if these things offend you, or if you want to remain pure from my horrible mind. To the rest of you sickos, thanks for reading! :-P

Suggested Band: The Pixies

* * *

** Chapter Three**

**Where is My Mind?**

* * *

I frantically throw my clothes into a worn suitcase, breathing heavily and feeling like my whole constructed world has just fallen apart.

_…Because it has. _

I glance over in annoyance as Jennifer, who doesn't share the same urgency, comfortably lies on my bed reading an _Us_ _Magazine._

"_Needy_," she groans flipping through the pages, the shiny paper making a crinkling noise that irritates me.

"I have to get out of here," I say anxiously, feeling my stomach churn. "That girl…It…whatever you want to call her. She knows who I am."

"And?" Jennifer doesn't look up once from the pages. "She doesn't seem too interested in you."

"Because she _knows_ who _I am_," I reiterate loudly.

"So? It's not like she can eat you like a human Snickers bar," Jennifer says. "You're too powerful for that."

She pauses for a beat and asks, "Do you think she's prettier than me?"

"_Jennifer_," I sigh, throwing the last of my unmentionables into the suitcase.

"She looks older, I think," Jennifer says. "She can't possibly age well."

"She's not going to age, Jennifer. She's _dead_," I say, pulling my luggage off the bed, and walking out into the darkened hallway. I keep the blinds and shades drawn at all times.

I can hear my footsteps, heavy and panicked on the hardwood floor as I hurry to the front door.

"You don't know if she can't," Jennifer says appearing in front of me. I jump a little, my heart feels like it's about to explode.

"You've got to be kidding me!" I yell.

"You can't go," Jennifer says.

"I'm _leaving_," I stand my ground.

"But what if-" Jennifer pauses uncomfortably and looks at one of my figurines. It's a small porcelain pig I bought during my short time in Mississippi. "What if this is all happening for a reason?"

"It _is_ happening for a reason," I snap. "It's happening because of _you_, Jennifer. If you hadn't gotten in that stupid creeper van with that stupid creeper band, I wouldn't be _here_."

"Maybe," Jennifer says dismissively. "And what if this is my chance to redeem my soul? What if, Needy—What if I'm supposed to help you save this town and be…I don't know, be free to go to heaven or hell or something? Anywhere is better than this place, I would think."

I look at her, a twinge of guilt rises up in me when I look at her pitiful face. She'd cry if she could but she can't. It's physically impossible for ghosts to produce real tears.

"I…" I look at the only window in my home that the light can stream in through. It illuminates my pale couch.

"What if we fail?" I ask. "Jennifer, she could kill me, and if she doesn't kill me- I can't go down in the history books as Anita Lesnecki, the woman who killed her best friend and in a jealous rage murdered a whole freakin' Indie band. I can't live the rest of my life in prison or in an insane asylum having conversations with a ghost."

Jennifer looks at me offended. To her, ghost is a dark and hateful word, but what am I to call her? _Living impaired?_

"I just think we should try," Jennifer says.

I drop my suitcase, thinking about all the people who could and _would_ be victim to this teenaged girl. I think about what happened in Devil's Kettle, and how horrible it was to see the devastating looks on the victim's mother's faces when they found out that their sons were chewed up and spit out, leaving only bloodied bones. The demon Jennifer was a particularly ravenous beast, and to her, boys were like a fat man's paradise- an all-you-can-eat wing night at the local Bar & Grille. Things really couldn't be much different for Elle.

"Fine," I sigh. "We can see if we can stop this, but I swear, if things go south, I'm moving to Mexico."

Jennifer jumps up and down smiling. "You really are my best friend," she says.

"I'm your _only_ friend," I respond.

"Do you want a drink?" Jennifer asks. "I think this occasion calls for a strawberry smoothie."

"Can you add vodka to it?" I ask, slumping onto my couch and cuddling with a pillow.

"I can see what I can do," she responds, winking at me before she runs off into the kitchen.

I lay down, a trickle of light spills out from between one of the poorly drawn curtains. I know it's incredibly sunny out, and I wonder why I keep the blinds shut and the dark curtains closed. I wonder if its because I'm afraid of people looking in and seeing a free-floating magazine wander by, the TV turn on and change stations by itself, or the dresses that Jennifer thinks I should wear waltz around the living room? Or is it because _I_ don't want to be seen?

I convinced myself years ago that I molded my life around Jennifer's ghost, and because of her, I was held back from actually experiencing the world. The funny thing about that, though, I was always traveling- bouncing from one small town to the next. I guess I had seen _most_ of America, and some places across the seas too. So maybe, Jennifer was just an excuse. Maybe I didn't want anyone to know the person I saw in the mirror every morning—the person I had kept hidden in my proverbial "closet."

_…Maybe Grace Hearse was hiding a few more skeletons than a ghost, naturally blond hair, a killer-superman-kick, and a few rotting band members._

I hear the blender turn on in the kitchen, and the hum distracts me from my thoughts.

Jennifer didn't always annoy me. In fact, sometimes I found her to be quite sweet, a lot sweeter than she was in high school- but sometimes I wonder if her smile distracts me from her secret resentment. Weirdly, I understand why she'd resent me.

It'd be hard not to hold some kind of grudge towards your murderer..._Wait._

_What if Jennifer wants revenge? _

I shrug at myself, reassuring that, _again_, Jennifer killed my boyfriend. We've evened the score. I avenged Chip's death. I saved Jennifer's soul from being overtaken by that bloodsporting demon. I am a hero.

_but...still...She's Jennifer. What if she puts rat poison in my smoothie?_

I get off the couch, ready to check on my dead friend, but a knocking sound startles me. I can barely hear it over the blender's murmur. I look towards the door, wanting to ignore it, but I've never had a visitor.

When I open the door, I am a little surprised to see a man a little taller than me. His haircut is modest, and is wearing thick frames, sporting a scruffy beard and a shy smile, looking pale and harmless. His argyle sweater matches his magnified green eyes. I look at him suspiciously, wondering if I've ever seen him before.

"Hi, my name is Ted Saulty," he stutters through his words, "I teach math at Cloverport High."

"Yes, of course. Hi," I greet him. "I'm sorry. I didn't really get a chance to meet any of the other teachers."

"Yeah, I just saw you leaving quite abruptly and thought something might be wrong," he says. "I don't mean to pry, I just wanted to check and see that the kids didn't do anything too torturous on your first day."

"Oh," I say. "No, everything was fine, Mr. Saulty."

"Please, uh, call me Ted."

"Okay...well, _Ted_. Thank you for stopping by," I say and begin closing the door.

"I also wanted to give you this," he stops me and hands me a giftcard to Morning Joe, a coffee shop in town. "The coffee in the teacher's lounge is horrible. It'll burn a hole through your clothes if it gets on you, practically. You should check this place out, if you haven't already."

"Thank you," I say, feeling a little bad that I don't want him anywhere around my quarters, but reluctantly I ask, "Would you like to come in for a smoothie?"

"Yes, I'd like that very much."

_Jennifer had better be on her best behavior._

I move aside, offering him entrance into the dark living room. I watch as his eyes scan the room, looking at all the old-lady knick knacks that are lying dustily around. He's wondering why it's so dark, I know, so I pull open one of the curtains, turning the stream into a waterfall of light.

"Were you planning on going somewhere?" he finally notices the suitcases and gestures to them curiously.

"Well, not exactly," I say. "Just a small weekend trip to the lake. I hear it's beautiful there."

"Getting ready already?" he asks.

"Friday can never come soon enough," I nervously joke, a mechanical laughter escaping my throat.

"Is your _husband_ doing something in the kitchen?" Ted asks quietly, hearing the blender's hum, his hands are fumbling around in his pockets.

"No, it's just me," I respond, smiling. "It's just my blender."

_Damnit, how am I going to explain this one? You see, I live with a ghost who does all of my cooking._

"You leave your blender unattended?" he asks. "Is your kitchen ok?"

The hum suddenly stops and Ted looks at me thoughtfully.

"Blenders don't stop on their own, do they?" he says.

"Uh...It's state of the art," I lie through my teeth, walking into the kitchen, Ted follows.

The solitary blender sits on the countertop, filled with its red slushie liquid. I smile at Ted, relieved that he can't see Jennifer. She's sitting on the countertop next to the blender, looking at me with a sly smile on her face.

"Is this your new love interest?" she asks.

"The blender turns on when you put the ingredients in, and turns off when everything is thoroughly mixed," I say. "...It's from Japan."

"That is the worst lie I've ever heard," Jennifer laughs.

"That's fascinating," he says walking towards the cheap American made appliance.

I stop him.

"Isn't it?" I say, fixing his shirt collar, acting slightly flirtatious.

Ted stops and I can watch his cheeks become flush with color.

"Is he buying this? Really, Needy?" Jennifer groans. "He's like, Five Six. Who's going to reach the cereal on the top shelf? Think of the children, for god sakes! What if you have a son who wants to try out for the Football team. Don't give birth to _Rudy_."

Ted backs away from me.

"So you, uh, you cook a lot, eh?" he asks awkwardly still staring at the blender.

"Sure," I lie again.

_Does microwaveable Mac and Cheese count?_

"Can I look at it? The blender?" he asks. "I'm a bit of a technophile."

I look at Jennifer and sigh, as she raises an eyebrow.

"Sure," I say, walking up to the blender and removing the top.

Ted looks at the mechanical device, crinkling his nose as he studies the buttons.

"This looks so ordinary, I can't believe it has such advanced capabilities," he says.

"Oh, he might be a little stupid," Jennifer says, sliding off the counter and studying him closely. "He's not hideous, though. Maybe you could hit it and quit it. I'm sure he doesn't get much action. He's a man with _feelings_."

"What brand is this?" Ted mumbles, intensely studying the worthless appliance.

"I..." I can't think of think of a new lie.

"Ok, this has gone on long enough," Jennifer sighs, pushing down one of the blenders buttons.

Strawberry smoothie splatters around the room, the majority finding it's way on Ted Saulty's face.

I stare at him in amused disbelief, my hands covering my slightly opened mouth. "I'm so sorry," my voice is muffled.

"I taste vodka," Ted says, his eyes are closed as he licks his partially smiling lips. "That's always a good after school plan."

"Let me get you a towel," I grab a dish cloth from one of the drawers and offer it to him. "Really I am so sorry, I have to send this thing back immediately."

"At least now I can say you've sweetened me up," Ted smiles at me wiping his face with the dishtowel.

It was a sweetly pathetic attempt to flirt, and I stare at him for a bit before Jennifer pushes the blender's "on" button again.


End file.
